


never had a shotgun (shot in the dark)

by ev0lution



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professional Racing, F/M, Found Family, I'm Sorry, Lyra is dead, Mutual Pining, The AU nobody asked for or wanted, Unbeta'd, alternatively titled: i had a weird childhood, cause i need one of those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ev0lution/pseuds/ev0lution
Summary: Jyn’s life was all about speed. She wanted to be pressed back in her seat by the force of it, to feel the engine rumble beneath her, to get lost in the dizzy power of it. It was a drug, an addiction that Lyra had passed through to her in the womb. One she couldn’t – and wouldn’t – shake.She liked being fast, and she liked snap-judgments, so she made one then, and decided she didn’t like Cassian Andor.





	never had a shotgun (shot in the dark)

You weren’t a real driver until you’d crashed. It was a brutal initiation, but it was a requirement. You never really knew how to take a risk behind the wheel until you knew the consequences; you’d never really fit in with other drivers until you could shove up you sleeve and display the horrendous scar you got from your first joy ride, or the surgical slice down your shin from when you shattered your tibia.

Every professional driver knew the feeling of a seat belt cutting into hips and chest like a knife, knew the _pop_ of an airbag, knew the rubber-band-snap of whiplash. That knowledge was what got them sponsors and the big leagues, because only real drivers could crawl from a crash and claw through rehab, then slide back behind the wheel. Knowing the feeling of your bone shattering against metal, of your teeth cracking on a steering wheel, of bruises so bad they formed welts, all contributed to a knowledge of risk. Good drivers always weighed reward heavier than risk but had to know the weight of that risk before they could. Every driver had to crash, if they wanted to be anybody.

Some just knew it better than others.

///

Davits Draven looked at Jyn like she was something unpleasant he found on his shoe. He looked very much like he’d like to wipe her off somewhere, to pass her to someone else – but he was the one who called her, _not_ the other way around. In fact, if Jyn had a list of people she would never grovel to, Draven would make it on the podium. So Jyn crossed her arms and pretended she didn’t need the contract, looking at _him_ like he was the pile of shit that he clearly thought she was.

She didn’t let it show that she felt wildly out of place in her grease-stained jeans and ripped leather jacket, reclined back with her legs spread wide in the white leather office car. Flakes of gunmetal nail polish were scattered on her lap and the otherwise-pristine glass table, where she’d picked at it while she waited for the others to arrive. Her knotted hair and beat-up jacket felt especially unforgivable in the face of Director Mothma, in her impeccable white suit, with her impeccable hair cut, and her impeccable makeup. Jyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d washed off all her eyeliner.

“Of course,” Mothma continued her speech, which Jyn was only half-listening to. “All your lodge will be provided, on and off season, and you will be employed year-round, thus completing two conditions of your parole.”

Jyn levelled her glare at Mothma. Dropping the parole wasn’t exactly _diplomatic_ of her, especially after the honey she’d already drizzled all over Jyn’s contract. Mothma appeared to be fully aware; she almost looked amused. Jyn bit her tongue; _you can tell them what you_ really _think once you get the contract._

Her body felt too tight, coiled like she was revving for a race, but without the promised release of a gas pedal. She fought to keep still, focusing on boring her eyes into Draven, trying to make him twitch. Behind him was the logo for Alliance Industries, stamped across the wall on a pearly white last-lap flag. But the contract in front of her read _Rogue Racing_. It was a brand-new subset of the Alliance that most people hadn’t heard of, not even Jyn, who’d asked Draven to repeat himself when he’d called a week before.

Whether she was racing under the Alliance name, or the Rogue name, or if she didn’t have _any_ name, she didn’t give a shit. She had a goal, and it didn’t matter to her how she got there.

The contract was laid out before her, helpfully highlighted by some over-eager assistant, and flipped to the last page by Jyn. She’d read it twice, didn’t have the money for a lawyer to read over it as well, so she’d sat back to stare down Draven instead. She could read his boney features better than any damn contract. She was also pretty sure he’d tell her more than Mothma, despite the difference in their dispositions

Jyn had just slid forward in her chair and picked up the pen when the conference room door opened, grabbing her attention. She _felt_ Draven sigh, so she dropped the pen altogether to piss him off further. The man who entered was tall and lean, a good build for a driver, his bangs tipping into his eyes, and in a leather jacket, beaten and worn. The whole thing made him look like some kind of mused model, not the driver she knew he was. Jyn was sure her own leather jacket-messy haired combo didn’t make her look like a model _or_ a driver, and instead some _Grease_ wannabe.

Jyn’s life was fast. She liked speed, and she liked snap judgments, so she made one then, and decided she didn’t like Cassian Andor.

“I’m sorry, Director,” he said, in a low, accented voice, addressing Mothma first, before he turned to Drave, “Sir.”

He slid into the seat across from Jyn, who leaned back in her own chair, sizing him up and picking up the pen. She could feel Draven’s disappointment at the sight of the pen sliding her in hand, poised to tap on the desk instead of sign.

“Who the hell are you?” She asked, like his driving stats weren’t rehearsing themselves in her head. Cassian Andor had come from nowhere two years ago, snaking title after title since. It was impossible _not_ to know who he was, quiet and confident but never cocky, sliding onto podium after podium with a kind of grace that Jyn would never acquire. His interviews were even better: reserved but charming, polite and short. He knew how to work the press. It was something that made Jyn, who’s spent a lifetime in the spotlight and was only worse for it, see green. He was just the sort of driver that the Alliance would love, and just the sort that Jyn would like to lap.

“Cassian Andor,” he said, in that mild voice of his. She was sure he’d offer a hand to shake, like the good little boy scout he was, if the table between them wasn’t so large. He settled for nodding, and Jyn’s return was short.

“Erso,” she spat her name like a weapon. He smiled, somewhat thin.

“Cassian will be your teammate,” Mothma said, gesturing to the contract, “The teammate clause is detailed on the third page.”

Jyn nodded sharply. She’d read it. She read the stuff that wasn’t there, too.

The whole reason that the Alliance was starting a new subset of racing was because they wanted more boots on the ground, specifically so they could get a competitive edge over the domineering Empire Corps. They were spreading from their NASCAR roots, where their own legacy, Leia Organa, was tearing up the pavement, to the open-wheeled Indy cars: smaller, faster, and not nearly as profitable. Signing Cassian had been a smart move on their part, getting them titles and cash. But Andor was only one racer; not even he could block all three of the Empire’s drivers from placing. The Alliance wasn’t just looking for wins, either. They wanted publicity, which Cassian’s short, reserved interviews weren’t getting over the drama of the Empire.

Cue Jyn, whose history – and attitude, in all honesty – was certainly attention-catching.

The two of them were the Alliance’s newest cash cow, and their best hope for kicking Empire ass. And they all knew it.

“I don’t have all day, Erso,” Draven snapped, finally, the first to break.

It was the namedrop that did it. Jyn adjusted the pen and signed the contract without a word, staring Draven in the eye the whole time.

///

Jyn Erso was a thief, but that wasn’t the reason why she had a parole officer.

The first time she drove an Indy car, it had been stolen, and a pit crew helped her do it. She convinced the mechanics that her mother asked for it to stay on the track, that she hoped to get one more lap in before they shut it down for the night. She’d been right out. Jyn hadn’t been charming at all, and she was pretty sure that was what sold her; she’d always been abrasive, even at twelve, and if she suddenly appeared to them all honey, they never would’ve bought it.

Lyra was _actually_ in her trailer with her husband, arguing over Krennic’s attempts to fish Galen, _again_ , and Jyn had never been patient. So the theft that changed her life was fuelled by spite: _if you’d just listen to each other and didn’t argue, your daughter wouldn’t be committing a felony._ That’d show them.

Instead of listening to same argument _again_ , Jyn climbed in her mother’s car, haphazardly strapped herself in, and floored it. Which, for all intents and purposes, was a terrible idea.

She crashed nearly the second she hit the gas, underestimating its strength and overestimating her ability. She’d been in the car before, of course, but always as a passenger, never as a driver. In hindsight, flooring it hadn’t been the best idea. She careened straight into a stack of tires, jerking the wheel too late and spinning in several circles before she came to a halt, skidding on the grass.

But before she hit the tires – before she knocked herself off course and veered onto the grass – she had thirty thrilling, jarring, life-changing seconds that made her realize she’d never been home before that.

///

_RACING LEGEND LYRA ERSO DEAD IN INDY 500 CRASH  
She leaves behind a husband and a thirteen-year-old daughter._

///

Just like any athlete, Jyn had a ritual. It was stolen, just like that car, from her mother.

A month passed since she’d signed the contract. Draven had her out on the track three times a week since then, double-checking her speed, making sure their investment wasn’t a waste. He barked at her like she was some rookie that had never seen a car before, instead of a legacy that had spent the first fourteen years of her life on a track. The other four days a week she spent in the gym, running and lifting and building the strength she’d lost.

She didn’t see anything of Mothma, or her new _teammate_ , aside from what was on television. While Jyn was bumming away her time on some shitty track in backcountry Indiana, he’d been part of preseason testing, and would have racked up a cool ninety points, if they were going for points. Not that she’d counted.

When she’d shown up for practice that morning, Draven hadn’t, sending an assistant with a plane ticket instead. The first race was in Florida, and she’d stomach the heat for a chance to get some _real_ racing done, instead of timing herself again and again, like a trick pony. Practice was the next day, and then Qualifying was the day after, at noon; Draven had really held her back until the last second.

But her ritual still had to be completed, even if she had to be back on the track at seven the next morning. She arrived at sundown, stepping up onto the grand stands to look out over the track. Behind her, concessions were springing up, unloading crappy t shirts and deep fryers and beer that would be lukewarm by the time they were cracked. The noise was a constant buzz, comforting like the murmur of a radio turned low while driving at night.

Jyn only spared a quick glance over her shoulder before she hooked her fingers and toes into the chain-link surrounding the track, a ten-foot curved thing that surrounded the road like half-open flower petals. It was technically trespassing, and Jyn had pulled this stunt at every race she’d ever driven. That wasn’t why she had a parole officer, either.

She swung a leg of the fence, then the other, gripping tighter now that she was at a hundred-ten degree angle, crunching in her core and digging in her toes. Jyn spidered halfway down before she let go, jumping and landing loudly with bent knees. She straightened and paused for a moment, staring down the track she’d be heaving down the next morning. She’d been assigned an early practice time, because she was technically a newbie, and newbies always got the shittiest times. At least the stands would be dead; people would still be caught up in the bombardment of overpriced t shirts and hot dogs to think of the practice.

Jyn walked to the center of the track, heavy boots crunching over the pavement. She was careful to dodge the painted lines, heading towards pit lane. Her hand raised of its own accord to her neck, pulling out the crystal that hung there, fingers locking around it. Its edges were scorched, its original leather strap gone, burned up with her mother nine years ago. Jyn hadn’t taken it off since.

Nerves skittered up her spine and she tried to lock them down, or at least aggressively ignore them. She took in a long breath. It was the feeling of coming home after a long period away; it was a wondering of acceptance, a hope she couldn’t handle. Homesickness that had been so constant was suddenly absent; like she’d been still for so long that rust had formed over her joints. She dropped her crystal and shook out her shoulders, trying to distract herself.

She rolled her shoulders, then threw herself forward.

Her feet hit the track so hard it a was jarring, gravel rolling under her thin soles, still avoiding the lines. Her arms moved smoothly with her, willing herself faster, stronger, darting towards pit lane. Her whole life was this: it was speed and breathlessness, sweat and sore muscles, jarring her bad knee and ignoring the click of her ankle, running as fast as she could in one direction, and never looking back.

She slid to a jog at pit lane, breath leaving, muscles warm and singing, coming to a rolling stop beside the lone figure there. Bodhi pressed a bottle into her palm wordlessly, part of his own ritual. Jyn took it gratefully, ripping off the cap and chugging half the bottle back.

If she’d been watching closely, she’d have caught Bodhi’s look, almost wistful, as he looked back the way she’d come. The hands that pressed the bottle into hers were scarred, the skin rippled and puckered, his left hand missing three fingers.

Bodhi had been part of the deal, penned in her messy writing on the back of the contract, initialed by Mothma and Draven. There was no Jyn if there was no Bodhi, and it’s been a sticking point when they were negotiating her contract. Draven had said, _you’re in no position to be bartering an extra four-year salary_ and Jyn had gone and sat in a coffee shop four blocks away, where she’d gotten a call from Mothma an hour later.

“How’s it feel?” Bodhi asked, turning his attention back to her. Jyn shrugged, pretending like she was too out of breath to answer. _Dangerous_ was the first word that popped in her head; it felt like the track was watching her, laughing at her, daring her. She gulped air and stood up straight.

“We’ll see in the morning,” was the answer she picked, followed closely by another swig. She wiped her mouth on her arm messily, and Bodhi didn’t push. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, she noticed; a rarity outside the garage. But she didn’t mention it, just like Bodhi didn’t mention that she was running again.

Without his gloves, Jyn could see the evidence of Bodhi’s crash. She’d been there when his car flipped, but she hadn’t seen it. Instead, she heard it over the radio that he was out, they were running under a red flag, and he was being loaded into a stretcher. The front of his car had crumpled like foil, trapping his hands in a fold of sharp metal and steel that took hours and power tools to free.

It had been his first year of racing, and Empire Corps found some loophole in their contract to get out of supporting him. Too cheap to lump out what would’ve been pocket change for them. Jyn had never watched the tapes, but the soundtrack of the crash got stuck in her head like a crappy pop number, and she dug into the remains of her mother’s life insurance to cover Bodhi’s medical. She hadn’t put her name on it, but he found out somehow. Once his hands were healed, he’d appeared at her garage, picking at her engine and telling her she could be faster, if she upgraded her piston rings.

_“What the hell are you doing to my car?” She’d snapped, arms crossed and ready to deck him, horrible accident or not._

_“Making it faster,” Bodhi had responded, hands still encased in bandages, “If you – if you want to finally beat Empire, you need a tune-up, better – better than this lump of junk.”_

Five years later, he was the best family she had. The only family she had, if she felt like brutal honesty, which she usually did.

“Are – are you,” Bodhi stopped, stuttered, swallowed. His burned-up hands weren’t the only consequence of the crash. “Are you ready?”

Jyn tried for a smile, but it felt sharper than she’d meant. “Worried, Rook?”

Bodhi shrugged, “Just that you – you hired me on,” he said, “But you’re gon – gonna make a fool of me. Worked hard for this rep – reputation, you know.”

Jyn snorted, decking him lightly in the shoulder, and Bodhi laughed.

///

 _SAFETY STANDARDS UNDER REVIEW AFTER DRIVER’S DEATH  
_ Husband of Dead Driver Devotes Life to Increasing Safety Standards

///

Galen Erso was an asshole. Jyn liked to remind herself of the face three times a day, or whenever she started to miss him, which was about twice as often.

He lasted two weeks after Lyra’s death. He told his grief-stricken daughter about stars and fate and rocked her, even though she was thirteen and too old for it. He stuck around long enough to make funeral arrangements, and almost long enough to put it on.

Before they left the church for the grave site, he’d gripped her hands, kneeled before her, and looked more exhausted than Jyn had ever seen him.

“Stardust,” Galen had said, so gently and quietly, that what came next was a sucker punch. “You’re going to stay with Uncle Saw for a bit, alright?”

It was definitely _not_ alright. She liked Saw, but he was kind of smelly, and didn’t talk very much. Did he even know how to take care of a thirteen-year-old? Especially one prone to stealing dangerous cars?

Jyn didn’t remember asking, but she must’ve, because Galen shook his head while he bought time for an answer.

“I need some time, Stardust,” Galen finally settled on, voice like gravel. “I have something I need to do.”

She heard what he didn’t say: I need some time _away from you_. I have something I need to do _without you_. Jyn screamed and swore until Galen finally promised to take it back, promised that she could go with him.

He slipped out the back door within the hour. If Jyn ever needed to be knocked down a few pegs, that was what popped into her mind: realizing her father broke his promise, realizing he was gone, and realizing that you couldn’t really trust anyone. _Stardust_. What a crock of shit.

Once he split, funeral goers felt comfortable to say whatever they wanted, especially to Jyn: how dare Lyra risk her life like that, how dare she put her _hobby_ before her child, how _dare_ she do what she loved, because it was dangerous and she had a daughter to worry about. The funeral’s reception wasn’t a fond remembrance, but a bitter chorus on Jyn’s behalf: Lyra was _selfish_ , Lyra was _greedy_ , Lyra didn’t _really_ love her family, or she wouldn’t have been so reckless. How dare she go off and die, when she had a child to look after.

It was such bullshit. If the distant relatives she’d never even heard of wanted to talk about _unfairness_ , then Jyn was more than ready. What was _really unfair_ was losing _two_ parents, with only _one_ death, then being carted off to a man better suited to being a distant pseudo-uncle, who was only around on Thanksgiving and brought extremely age-inappropriate gifts.

Galen punted her to Saw like she was a track-worn tire in pit lane. Saw told her not to call him uncle, because that was ridiculous, and offered her whiskey. Jyn accepted. It set the tone for their relationship; they made far better drinking buddies than pseudo-guardian and ward. They made even better racing partners, until that was ruined too.

///

DAUGHTER OF RACING LEGEND COMES TO TRACK  
Jyn Erso, 17, places fifth in standings after first five races

///

Qualifying was fine. A respectable place, if you were anyone but Saw Gerrera, or Saw Gerrera’s ward. It was nothing compared to her debut five years ago, where she’d gotten fourth on the first race.

Cassian had nodded and congratulated her on seventh, and her weird strategist was very excited, but Cassian was in the top three. His approval felt infantilizing, and her racing strategist, a _blind_ man named Chirrut Imwe, interspersed his congratulations with an endorsement of her aura, or something. He was blind – how the hell could he watch her on the track?

At first, she’d suspected that Chirrut had been the Alliance’s payback for playing dirty for Bodhi. The Alliance still swore by him, however, and he’d been a pretty impressive racer in his own heyday, before all that gasoline got in his eyes in a pit crash. Jyn’s opinion had swung back and forth over the past couple days, depending on how many metaphors he threw at her.

Jyn stepped into the doorway of her trailer, slouching against the frame and taking a healthy bite into her apple. The juice dripped down her chin as she surveyed the paddock.

Across the plastic racedeck was her trailer’s twin, except the side of it read _CASSIAN ANDOR_ , instead of _JYN ERSO_. Their cars were elevated between the trailers, Bodhi poking away at hers, doing regular maintenance after a run.

Opposite the Alliance’s apple red and sugar white paddocks were the muted colours of the Empire, all greys and sleek black. Jyn would’ve preferred their colours, if the Empire didn’t literally represent everything she hated about racing; black was a lot easier to keep clean.

Mercifully, it was late enough in the day that the paddock was closed to the public, leaving Jyn free to stand within sight of the fan area without being yelled at. She dropped out of the trailer, plastic racedeck giving millimetres to her weight, and slouched forward, stopping at the metal pole that stopped fans from wandering into their portable garage.

One of the worst parts about racing was the ten-foot flags erected at every garage, with their pictures and as many sponsors as they could cram on. Jyn hated looking at her photo, where she always looked too angry or bitchy to look halfway decent. Cassian’s picture, of course, was lifted straight from a magazine, giving such damn intense eyes that Jyn wanted to rip it down, and her awkwardly aggressive one too, for good measure.

The only consolation was how poor the Empire’s banners were. All three of their drivers looked vaguely constipated, and eerily similar. They weren’t siblings – it had been the first thing Jyn checked, after seeing them – but they all had the same pissed off, exhausted look. Like something had sucked the life out of them, and replaced it with steroids. Jyn guessed that was what happened when you hung out with a leech like Krennic, their racing strategist, long enough. Krennic bought that position when he was a driver, because the Empire didn’t trust anyone that wasn’t their own, and Krennic proved his loyalty back when he was a driver. His tire nudging Lyra’s was enough to send her careening into the wall that crushed her engine and set the whole thing on fire.

Every time Jyn remembered Krennic’s continued career after that move – his continued _success_ , scuffed only by a tiny, five-hundred dollar fine – Jyn wanted to jump in a car and run the Empire down. The Alliance had offered her the next best thing.

“Sizing up the competition?”

She hadn’t even heard him come up. Jyn had learned in the past two days that Cassian was eerily quiet when he wanted to be, and she didn’t appreciate it. Jyn finished her apple, tossing it into a garbage can a little harder than she had to before turning around.

She found him leaned back against his trailer, in a white Alliance t shirt with wet hair, like he’d just left the shower. He probably had; as a fan favourite, he was required to attend one of the daily autograph and photo sessions, which were always set up without a tent, so it was basically standing in the beating sun for an hour. Jyn was so glad she wasn’t a fan favourite.

Jyn crossed her arms. He was wearing sunglasses, even though they were under a tent. “I like the paddock when it’s quiet,” she said, like that was all she’d been doing, and he hadn’t hit the nail on the nose. She walked past him, stepping back into the safety of her trailer before he could say anything else, slamming shut the door.

 _What a teammate_ , she snapped at herself, before setting off in search of Chirrut, who probably had hours of race footage for her to watch.

///

Jyn’s life was all about speed. She wanted to be pressed back in her seat by the force of it, to feel the engine rumble beneath her, to get lost in the dizzy power of it. Everything was clearer when she was moving fast; it was when she slowed down that things seemed like a blur, knocking her off kilter. It was a drug, an addiction that Lyra had passed through to her in the womb. One she couldn’t – and wouldn’t – shake.

The second car Jyn stole belonged to Saw, and it wasn’t an Indy car. It was a Nissan that Saw had boosted, two weeks after he was kicked out of Indycar for doing the same to his open-wheel. The board had called the boost “audacious and risky” which Saw continued to scoff at, even after an engine blew up in his face and destroyed his lung.

He formed the Partisans a year after he inherited Jyn, collecting a handful of his craziest and most like-minded racing buddies. Within a year, they were responsible for the best street races in North America.

Jyn stole the Nissan when she was fifteen and tired of the passenger seat. She donned a big black helmet and challenged the biggest, baddest asshole in Saw’s gang. Got her ass kicked, outstripped almost by a full minute.

Before the Partisans, Saw was banned for life from all professional racing. Four years later, the cops caught up and Saw was tossed in prison, even though Jyn had been behind the wheel. They slapped him with a few street racing charges, which was a violation of parole from a previous arrest, plus endangering a minor. Jyn had been driving, but was let off with community service, a combination of her age and her sob story.

Saw blamed both of them. They both should’ve been faster. The minute you slowed down, was the minute you lost.

///

If Saw could see her new strategist, he’d probably disconnect his oxygen tank over the disgrace the industry had hit. But that was Saw, and he was dramatic. He had an oxygen tank for his lung, not his throat, but he still spoke in an awfully gravelly voice that he definitely exaggerated, and could’ve been soothed completely with a good cup of tea with honey. For all his spiky exterior, the man loved his drama.

Jyn liked Chirrut, despite what Saw would say. She’d decided it after the race, when he’d talked her through a maneuver that had her passing three people in the last four laps, with minimal metaphors about the speed force, or something. She only found out after the race that Chirrut came in a pair, and that his partner was very, very different.

She came out of the shower in her trailer to find him puttering around in her kitchen, bags of groceries filling the fridge that had, twenty minutes ago, only held a couple apples and an expired yogurt. It was Sunday night, she should’ve been on her way back to her hotel room, but instead, her trailer was packed, and Chirrut kept calling it _family dinner_.

“It is about time you have all met,” he’d told her when he pushed his way into the trailer, poking disapprovingly at the clothes on the floor with his walking stick. “How can you expect to work in harmony, when you have yet to meet your entire team?” He poked at her clothes again. “Or when you live in such a mess?”

Her cheeks burned and she’d gathered up the clothes, tossing them in a closet, before Chirrut herded her to the booth-style table usually reserved for strategy meetings, but had been co-opted for Chirrut and Baze’s nefarious purposes. There was more homecooked food piled on the table before her than she’d seen in her life, even before her mother died. Neither of the Ersos had ever been cooks, and Saw’s idea of a meal was a box of protein bars. Chirrut looked horrified when he caught her eating a hot dog for the third lunch in a row. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Baze had appeared to bully her oven into making something edible. Jyn’s mouth watered at the spread before her, eyes darting around the wealth on her table. She reached for a bowl of noodles, vegetables, and chicken, ready to shovel the whole thing in her mouth, but Chirrut’s hand shot out and knocked hers away.

“Hey!” Jyn said, cradling her hand to her chest. Chirrut smiled.

“Not until everyone is at the table.”

Baze dropped a plate suddenly in front of her. Jyn didn’t even know she had those. “And use a plate,” he grunted, turning back to the oven.

Bodhi scampered in next and went to wash his hands before he took a seat next to Jyn. Jyn had seen Bodhi eat banana pepper straight off the racedeck before; she looked suspiciously at Chirrut, who was smiling like he knew what she was thinking.

There was a quick knock at the door. Chirrut called them in. Cassian poked his head in and Jyn narrowed her eyes, until she saw the trays of lemonades he held. One of them was tinted pink with syrup.

Cassian passed them out, offering Jyn the pink one. “Tiger blood, right?” He asked, a straw pinned in his thumb. She took it, eyeing him suspiciously. “Bodhi mentioned it.”

 _Ah_. Bodhi nodded next to her and Jyn settled a little. “Thanks,” she said, and he nodded, handing the rest out and taking a green one for himself.

“What’re teammates for?” He slid into the booth on Chirrut’s other side. But there was one place set without a lemonade next to it. Cassian must’ve noticed her looking, because he said, “Kay doesn’t like lemonade. Too sugary.”

Jyn poked her straw around her syrupy lemonade and took a sip. Could’ve been sweeter.

Also: who the hell was Kay?

She didn’t need to voice her question, because the door opened without warning, admitting a black man whose height and weight reminded Jyn of a light post, with round glasses perched on his nose. She’d seen him around, fiddling with Cassian’s car, but hadn’t been introduced. Everyone greeted him but for Jyn, who wondered when everyone had met.

Bodhi leaned over, and said quietly, “Cassian’s head engineer.”

“When’d you meet?”

“When you were being standoffish and anti-social.”

Jyn elbowed him just as Kay’s eyes landed on her.

“Jyn Erso,” he said, ducking to get through the door. “I am Kay Tuesso. Cassian’s engineer.”

Jyn smiled, but it felt more like moving her mouth than smiling. “I heard. I’m Jyn.”

“Yes,” Kay blinked at her. “I believe I just informed you that I was aware.” Jyn raised her eyebrows. “You were right, Cassian,” Kay said, sitting next to him. “She is far smaller than I had expected.”

Jyn sat up, “What was that, lightning rod – “

“ _Kay_ ,” Cassian said at the same time, looking to Jyn with an apologetic look. She returned it with a glare, feeling her hackles starting to rise.

“What else have you been saying about me, Andor?” She asked.

“Cassian also said – “ Kay began, but Cassian hissed his name, louder this time, looking almost panicked, and Baze dumped the last dish on the table.

“Eat,” he grumbled, halting the conversation before loading his own plate.

Jyn glared at Cassian, and said, “I thought we were going to strategize.” She was only arguing because she was annoyed, her stomach protesting that action as it rumbled against her crossed arms.

“We will,” Chirrut responded soothingly, “And Cassian can then tell you what he told me earlier, what I am sure is what he said to Kay: that you are an excellent finisher, and that your last laps today were truly impressive.”

Jyn rolled her eyes to Chirrut. How very diplomatic. But she felt her shoulders relaxing despite herself, taking the flush on Cassian’s next as confirmation for Chirrut’s words. She stabbed a stalk of broccoli, shoving it in her mouth and speaking around it. “Still. I need all the help I can get.”

“Seventh is respectable,” Chirrut said, “And nothing to be ashamed of.”

 _Not as_ respectable _as fourth_ , she thought, flashing her eyes to Cassian. She looked back to Chirrut. “If you’re not first, you lose. Period.” Saw’s words in her mouth, popped out before she’d meant them. She stabbed at her food again, suddenly losing her appetite, but refusing to take the words back.

“You may not be achieving the same level of performance as you are used to, but you’re just out of practice,” Chirrut said soothingly, “Right now, your mindset is still straight, with eighty-degree turns. What you’re used to. But you need to think more fluidly. A circle. A blob.”

Jyn sat back and considered him. “I’m taking turns too sharply.” Chirrut nodded, then moved his hand in an S-shape.

“If you take rounder turns, you will be able to hug the track more effectively, and prevent passing and increase speed.”

Jyn turned the information over in her mind, summoning up a mental image of the track. He was right, she concluded. Most tracks were shapeless blobs, and she’d spent the last four years going in squares on the streets. She hadn’t adjusted yet. Jyn needed to steer for the roundness, not the sharpness.

Kay, who was apparently tone-deaf, deemed it appropriate to chime in. “There is an eighty-two percent chance that your street racing has impacted your ability to drive properly, and a ninety percent chance that the effect of your mother’s death will cause you to crash again, disqualifying you from another season.”

The table went still for a moment. She let the words sink into her skin and take root. She felt the eyes of the table swing to her. Bodhi reached out.

But Jyn was gone, hauling herself over Bodhi and out the door, her dish smashing to the floor. She hardly noticed. She smacked the door so hard behind her that it just bounced off the frame pathetically, halfway to her scooter when she heard Bodhi’s feet crash down the noisy steps. But when he called out her name, it wasn’t Bodhi. She was so surprised she stopped.

Cassian stopped when she did, “Jyn – “

“I thought you were Bodhi,” she said, then turned to keep going.

“Wait, please, Jyn,” Cassian said, and it was the ‘please’ that halted her again. Its genuineness surprised her. “I actually asked him if I could speak with you myself. Driver to driver.” Jyn turned, crossing her arms. “But if you’d prefer Bodhi, I can – “

“Alright,” Jyn interrupted, cocking a hip. Cassian’s face went blank with – disappointment? Before he nodded.

“I’ll just – “ He began to turn around, but Jyn called out.

“No,” she said, shifting, “I meant: you wanted to speak with me. Alright.” She straightened her shoulders, “What did you want to say?” _Driver to driver_.

“Kay can be...”

“An asshole,” Jyn supplied, and Cassian looked like he was going to smile, but stopped himself out of loyalty to his friend.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” Cassian said, “But Kay doesn’t mean to be nasty. There are a lot of people that do around here, and they’re not going to make it easy on you. Especially if you let them get a rise out of you.” Cassian looked at her so earnestly, she didn’t interrupt. “I know something of your career, on and off the track. You don’t strike me as the type to give up because someone criticizes you.”

“But bringing up my mother?” She could take criticism. No one would beat her up for her shortfalls more than herself. Lyra was where she drew the line.

“That was uncalled for, and I’ll speak with him,” Cassian said, holding a hand out like an olive branch. “But someone saw something in you, and that’s why you’re here. Don’t give up on that.”

Jyn felt warm for some reason. She watched him for a moment longer, just to make him squirm a little, though his face didn’t suggest he was. It was calm and carefully blank. She didn’t buy it.

Jyn dropped her crossed arms and his shoulders loosened incrementally. She bit back a smile. “Saw used to say that there was only ever one winner, and it didn’t matter if you were on the podium or dead last: you were a loser if you didn’t get the gold.” She said, “But he’s also in jail right now, so how good could his advice be.”

One of the corners of Cassian’s mouth lifted and then, seriously, he said, “You can’t judge yourself based off one race. One crash.”

Jyn was pretty sure he was referring to the one when she was seventeen, fresh out of community service and even newer to the big leagues. It didn’t kill her, but it was season ending. Enough to jar her.

That wasn’t the crash Jyn was thinking about. Her mother’s ghost was at her shoulder, almost tangible.

“Alright,” Jyn said again, stepping back towards the trailer, “But if Kay is an ass, I’m going to punch him.”

She was close enough that when he did his little half-smile, she saw it reach his eyes. He held open the door for her, “That’s fair.”

///

Jyn Erso was a twenty-two-year-old adult. She had practically raised herself since she was thirteen. She actually _had_ raised herself since sixteen, when Saw got arrested and she took great pains to pass it off like she was still living with her father, so children’s protective services didn’t breathe down her neck. Jyn had her first racing contract at seventeen, mostly thanks to her name, and that contract was annulled by the time she was eighteen, because she signed it when she was _seventeen_ , and didn’t know she should’ve looked for an injury clause. The clause stated that, in the event of a broken bone, the contract was eradicated. Jyn was an overachiever, and broke it three times over, at once. After that, Jyn won by winning street races, and betting on herself.

She had to fend for herself a lot. She grew up fast.

Jyn Erso was an adult, which was why, after that _family dinner_ , she curled up on her hotel bed and googled Cassian Andor. She knew his stats and rank by heart, knew he’d won his first race at twenty-three. It was in Portland, and he’d swept the title right out from under Krennic’s nose in his last season, which Jyn had appreciated. But that was all his career; she didn’t know much about _him_. She’d gathered from his accent, and the flag he wore on his uniform, that he was from Mexico. And that’s where her information on Cassian Andor, the human being outside of racing, ended.

She could’ve just asked him. That would be the friendly _teammate_ thing to do, and would probably make Chirrut smile approvingly at her. But Jyn was an Adult, capital ‘A’. Why would she ask him when she could just google him behind his back?

She opened the page. Over a million results. Wonderful.

Jyn scrolled through the first few sites, but the information was surprisingly sparse, even on the official Indy profile page. It was all stats, rankings, sponsor information. Nothing personal. Even the hometown was only listed as “Mexico”. Jyn scoffed and moved on to the next link, an interview.

But it was all about his career too. Even the questions that were clearly the reporter attempting to personalize the interview, Cassian managed to turn back around on her. When asked about his experience growing up, he gave a generic, _racing’s always been my dream_ non-answer. When asked about what he did in his downtime, he was recorded as laughing, _what downtime?_ When asked his favourite _drink_ , he responded that he was so in the habit of chugging water at races, that it was basically all he drank.

But that was a lie. He’d burned through his limeade at dinner, and she’d seen him with it outside of dinner, too.

The other four interviews she read were just as slippery. She even went to the _second page_ of results. There was a YouTube video, _Indy 500 Cassian Andor Trailer Tour_ , that she thought would give her _something_ – but Cassian wasn’t even in the video. It was Draven, looking constipated and pissed off. Someone had obviously forced him into making the video, giving a stilted tour of Cassian’s trailer.

She watched the entire seven minutes, waiting for him to show up. It was only when it got to the end of the video that what she was doing caught up to her, and hot embarrassment spread across her cheeks. She snapped shut her laptop, shoving it away from her as she pushed herself up against the headboard. She glared at her laptop, like it was at fault.

///

The thing that Jyn hated the most about racing was the autographs. Her writing was atrocious, and she almost always stole someone’s sharpie by accident, and it always flared up arthritis in the wrist she’d broken when she was seventeen, and people were just _greedy_ – Jyn could spot eBay sellers on sight. They would get her to sign half a dozen things every race day, then come back for more the next race, always waiting her at the bar like a pack of vultures. She refused to sign anything that featured her mother, but they always tried.

She’d spotted one of those sellers lurking at her tent at the next race – her hypothesis proved by a quick search on her phone, where she found everything she signed after the practice the day before, along with photos she’d didn’t know he took. Jyn just didn’t have the energy after qualifying to deal with him again, especially if he was going to whip out those photos again, from when she was still a kid, standing with her mother, days before the crash.

She couldn’t escape that crash. She loved her mother; she always would. But she missed when her mother was more than a cautionary tale in racing; she missed when Lyra was more than Jyn’s tragic backstory.

On sight of the seller, Jyn turned her scooter in the back way, sliding in quietly and ignoring the call of her name once the little crowd out front noticed. They were soon distracted, however. Cassian appeared from his trailer, sharpie poised in hand and smile on his face. He was even still wearing his thousand-degree driving suit, yanked down to the waist. What a photo op.

 _His_ autograph, she knew, was essentially worthless. He’d diluted his own market.

Cassian laughed at something a fan said, leaning in to take a photo. Boy scout.

///

Street racing was very, very different from the professionals. For one thing, street racing was a hell of a lot more dangerous, and not just because of the cops. Driving a modified engine always had its risks; Saw could tell you that first hand, through his oxygen mask.

Then there was the cost of both. In street racing, most car parts were bought from personal garages or truck backs at meets, and the fewer questions you asked, the cheaper it was. In the big leagues, legacies like Jyn constantly took sponsorship for granted. She used to think wearing logos stamped all over you was tacky, until she suddenly had no sponsors, and Jyn had to find money for her own parts and her own food. But once you had a contract – a good one, not the shady thing she signed in her first go at the Indy – you were set. There was nothing like that in street racing.

Lastly, and most importantly: street racing just wasn’t fast enough.

///

Jyn was welcomed to Long Beach by her parole officer, who surprised her by showing up at the hotel before her. It put her in a sour mood immediately, when she checked in and found out from the staff that she had a visitor waiting in the lounge, in full view of everyone, including _Kay_ , who loudly praised her parole officer’s dedication.

The check-in itself wasn’t terrible; he was smart enough to accept her clipped answers, and not to drag it out. But it seemed to set the tone for Long Beach, where she finished sixteenth, and was left feeling irritable and exhausted.

She didn’t understand _why_ they had those meetings; what was he going to do, check her bags for a modified car? Her parole conditions included getting a steady, legitimate job, which she _did_ , and she was required to take up a residence, which she _technically_ did. She hadn’t been interacting with any of Saw’s other racers, just like they told her. She wasn’t anywhere near Colorado Springs. Lastly, she wasn’t allowed to drive off the track – which, she’d done a little bit, but only on the scooters and other vehicles on the paddock, and he didn’t need to know about it.

Jyn thought the media would do her a favour for once, as it reported on her if she so much as sneezed. She thought her parole officer would keep track, and pick up on the fact that the only news surrounding her had been about her performance on the track, with at least two bullshit thinkpieces about Lyra. No bad press. She thought that would mean _something_ , but apparently not.

///

Jyn stepped forward, lunging her knees to ninety-degree angles then twisted at the waist, fists pressed together. Her next step brought her feet together, spine straight. Then she stepped out with the other foot. Twist. Step. She shut her eyes and let herself get lost in the rhythm of it. Step. Twist. Breathe. Step. Breathe.

There was a lot of time between races, but that didn’t mean Jyn got to sit on her ass four days a week. She didn’t have any family to visit, since her mother was dead, and her father was an asshole, and her drinking buddy was behind bars, so she wasn’t too broken up about working seven days a week, trailing after Baze and Chirrut.

The two strategists seemed to have adopted all of them, cooking lunch and dinner every day. While Bodhi and Kay spent their days with cars and computers, tinkering and testing, Jyn and Cassian were in the gym, watching endless race reels, or testing their concentration.

After Long Beach came Alabama (seventh place, again), and then they had four days before Detroit. Not long enough to head back to Alliance base, so they went straight to Detroit, to some gym that rented out their second floor for Alliance training when they were in town.

She heard him come in over the clang of The Clash on the speakers, but didn’t acknowledge him, not even when he fell into step beside her. The sound of his breath mingled with hers. Step. Twist. Breathe. Step. Breathe.

They finished the set together, taking the length of the room three times. Jyn opened her eyes and looked at Cassian, taking in the dry tank and shorts. It wasn’t like him to be late; he was the morning person of the two, wide eyed and ready to go as she tried to pour the strongest black tea she could find into her Nalgene. He met her look and answered its question.

“Draven called,” he said, “Just checking in.”

Jyn thought that sounded suspiciously like _checking in on you_ , but didn’t say anything, just glad _she_ wasn’t the one who had to take seven AM calls with Draven. Maybe Draven was regretting signing her, or regretting agreeing with whoever had suggest they sign her. Indianapolis was creeping closer and closer, maybe Draven could smell her fear was starting to catch up. Good thing Jyn was fast.

The mystery of the Alliance’s headhunt still pricked at her. She’d thought it had been the work of Baze or Chirrut, until the former had mentioned in passing his surprise at her name on the roster, the latter detailing his delight. So it wasn’t either of them. Maybe Draven had picked her based off the footage from her first go; she was poor with the cameras, but good with a car, and Draven didn’t seem to care what she did off the track, so long as she proved herself on it. Mothma was a possibility.

Someone had picked her. Jyn didn’t care that much about why; she wanted to know _who_.

“Spot me?” Jyn asked, glancing at Cassian. He nodded, and followed her to the bench, where she set the bar to hundred fifty and laid back. She slid under the bar and curled her hands around it, looking at its reflective metal instead of at Cassian, who positioned himself above her with his hands bracketing hers.

She focused on the bar, because she hadn’t thought this through. His shirt was loose, and at her angle, she could see straight up it, at his hard stomach and a dark trail she _definitely_ didn’t want to think about –

 _One_. She pushed the weight up, then slowly breathed out as she lowered it.

She chanced a look up, and saw the curve of Cassian’s jaw, covered in stubble but for one, fingernail sized spot. There was a little cut there, mostly healed. He must’ve nicked himself shaving.

 _The bar_ , she thought, glaring at it. Her own eyes admonished her in the bar’s reflection. _Two_.

Cassian was looking down at her, his hands hovering an inch below the bar as it moved. “I’m sorry about Kay.”

 _Three_.

He thought she was mad at him. Probably attributing her glare to something he did, rather than...

Well, it wasn’t like she was chatty usually, and her resting bitch face should’ve had a medal. But Cassian had a point; maybe she should’ve been mad at Kay after dinner the night before. Kay mentioned the first turn of the Indianapolis track was the deadliest in the sport, and that the risk heightened with the larger amount of competitors in the race, a good chunk of them rookies. Only a loud thump from under the table had him stopping, blinking owlishly, before he loudly apologized to the whole table if the statistical analysis recalled any “unpleasant memories”.

 _Four_.

“Where’d you find him, anyways?” Jyn asked, holding the bar high for a moment, pausing to catch his eye. “Some factory somewhere? Was it the Empire’s?”

Cassian exhaled sharply, which was as good as a laugh from him. “No. We were both picked up by Draven when we were young.”

Jyn breathed down in time with lowering the bar, giving her time to consider. Raised by Draven, then. No wonder he was such an asshole. It didn’t explain Cassian, though.

 _Five_. “Thought you said you’d only been in the game since you were twenty-three?”

Cassian nodded, and the movement swayed his shirt a little, giving her a peek up to his chest. Jyn stared hard at the bar. _Six_. “That is when I began in the Indy, yes. But I have been working under Draven for longer. I spent a few years in Indy Lights before then.”

 Jyn narrowed her eyes, trying to do some mental math. “Were you in Lights when I was racing?”

“Yes. I wasn’t under Alliance,” he said, answering her next question too. “They have a small division called Fulcrum, and I used a fake name for a while. Joreth.”

 _Seven_. Jyn raised an eyebrow. “ _Joreth?_ ”

“What’s wrong with Joreth?” Cassian asked, then he leaned down a little, close enough that she could smell his cologne. “ _Jyn_?”

That surprised a crooked smile out of her. He flashed his own down at her, and she was glad she was already hot, so he couldn’t see her blush. _Eight_.

“I wasn’t sure about the media,” Cassian said, “I... value my privacy. I saw how it ripped into the other racers. But once I moved into the Indy, I got better, and my real name got out. It was more a hassle to explain that, than to just let them use my real name.”

Jyn nodded, somewhat awkwardly, against the bench. _Nine_. She could understand that. She’d tried to change her name, to drive anonymously, but it stuck to her like glue. The media liked her name and the narrative that came with it all too much to let her change it; good sob stories sold magazines, and kicking away her name meant doing the same to her past.

 _Ten_. She held that one, looking up at him. He smiled, and her stomach did something odd that had nothing to do with the weight. Then she slowly lowered it down, letting him help guide the bar to its stand.

///

“You good?” Bodhi’s question, as she stepped with admittedly-shaking knees off the cart. Jyn nodded, letting him take her helmet and trail after her as she walked to the trailer. There was a flock of people gathered at the front of her garage, no doubt drifting there after the announcer called on the loudspeakers that she was out. She ignored them, focusing on getting inside her trailer.

Detroit had seemed to be going her way. She’d snagged pole position, and led the first ten laps, even after hitting the pit. She’d found her groove, caught up in the beautiful breathless freedom of racing. Krennic must’ve realized she was happy, because he did his best to shatter it.

On the eleventh lap, troopers came up on both sides, crowding her too close. The inside car had pushed to pass, darting out of the way just as the outside car came closer, forcing her to jerk away, too hard to avoid catching grass. She was sent in a spiral, her nose bashing the trooper off track too, setting the whole race under yellow until they could haul her and the trooper out of their cars.

Jyn felt like she was still spinning, heart pounding so hard she thought she was going to throw up. _Get a grip_. She’d been through far worse than that. She hadn’t felt any of this in the moment, not even when she’d stopped, and she tore herself from her car to scream at the trooper, stuck on the grass behind her.

It was a dirty move, knocking her from the race and giving her an automatic second-to-last position. Krennic’s cronies were known as troopers for a reason; they’d follow any order Krennic made, even if it meant knocking themselves out of running, and taking a two thousand dollar penalty to do it. It looked just enough like an accident for the asshole to get away with a fine, but Jyn knew better. Krennic was a tool who’d had it out for Lyra since she, a _woman_ had _dared_ steal his title away, along with his best engineer.

That hatred had transferred to Jyn, a reminder of Lyra maybe not in looks but in spirit. It didn’t help that she was breathing evidence of Galen’s team switch.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Jyn slammed her fist out for the first thing she saw, bashing a cup off the counter. She felt rather than heard Bodhi jump behind her. The fight drained out of her like oil during a change, replaced by guilt.

“Sorry, Bodhi,” she sighed, scrubbing her face with her hand.

“It’s – it’s okay,” his voice was shakier than usual. She thought of how he’d held her helmet when she handed it to him, tightly into his stomach, knuckles white. The crash had probably been a lot scarier as a spectator; he sounded worse than she felt. Making Bodhi sound like that made her feel like she’d just kicked a whole litter of puppies.

Jyn couldn’t meet his as the shame washed over her. She wrestled out of her outer driving suit, leaving her in the white fire protection beneath.

 “Saw used to say the only thing worse than a shitty driver was an inconsistent one.” It was another apology, repackaged to try to explain her anger.

Bodhi said, “It was a – a dirty hit. Not your fault.”

Jyn turned, leaning back against the counter. “And Empire’s going to get away with it,” Jyn spat, finally aiming her anger in the right direction, shoving up the sleeves of her thermal layer. “Because they get away with everything.” She glanced down at his scarred hands, and Bodhi smiled a little weakly.

“Not if the A – Alliance has a – anything to say about it,” Bodhi said. Jyn considered him, crossing her arms. He was right. That was what she’d been recruited for. She was there to help take the Empire down.

///

There were two reasons why drivers didn’t wear their racing suits full-time. First off, it made you a douchebag, because they were worth somewhere upwards of three thousand dollars, and spilling coffee on it was generally frowned upon. Second off, they were built for safety. That meant they were hot as hell, layers upon layers of fire protection. They were so hot that drivers lost about three litres of water every race, and needed to chug it all back if they wanted to avoid a wicked headache.

That was why Jyn was bent over her engine with Bodhi, wearing old sweats with her hair in a tangled knot, Kay nagging her to drink more water despite the sweating, half-empty Nalgene in her hand.

“If you wish to receive optimal success tomorrow, you must drink at least four more of those bottles within the hour,” Kay informed her, taking a break from whatever he was tinkering with to harass her. “Otherwise, you are sure to awake tomorrow morning with a headache that will set you in a foul mood, which will then decrease both your performance, and your _team’s_.”

Jyn shook the bottle. “If I spill this on you, will you short circuit?”

Kay sighed, like he was dealing with a petulant child.

“The wiring there shouldn’t have anything to do with it,” Bodhi said, returning to what he and Kay were discussing before Jyn had waltzed up. Kay shook his head, pointing at her engine with a long, thin finger.

“Not there,” Kay said, then moved his finger to the right, “Here. I predict that if I edited the wiring here, it can increase horsepower by two percent.”

Bodhi’s face was skeptical, studying the wiring he’d done. Jyn knew cars and their engines inside out, but this particular conversation was just beyond her reach, comprehensible for only the two head engineers. They made some modifications to the cars (within the dome of the rules) and Jyn didn’t totally recognize what the new wires were even _for_.

It was an argument that had pulled like taffy between them since her crash. Fixing the nose had Bodhi also examining the engine, which lead to Kay sticking his flat nose into it, and had them arguing; or, it was as much of an argument it could be, with Bodhi on one side, and Kay on the other.

“You ever think about something other than percentages?” Jyn asked, leaning her elbows on the chassis. Kay blinked at her like such an idea was ridiculous.

“In my experience, numbers and logic have been the clearest way of communication,” he informed her in his clipped, posh tone. “But perhaps in your case, I should make an exception. I could speak more slowly.”

Jyn almost smirked. The smartass was starting to grow on her, like mold. “You know what would really help me?” Jyn asked, and she watched Kay take in a breath, preparing herself. She _did_ smile that time. “If you yanked all the wires out of your ass and stopped acting like such a robot.”

Kay looked distinctly unamused. “I am almost disappointed at your lack of creativity. The robot jokes are both tired and unoriginal.”

“What’s the matter, Kay?” Jyn smiled, “Am I grinding your gears?” Bodhi groaned beside her, rubbing his forehead and leaving behind a smudge of grease.

Kay _humphed_ in the way that meant he was about to find their mediator. “Perhaps you should remain with the undisciplined chaos you call _driving_ , and leave both the prattle and the scientific analysis to those that are qualified.”

Jyn pushed herself up, “I’ll be sure to let Cassian know you think he’s wild and unpredictable.”

“That is _not_ ,” Kay said with annoyance, “What I said.”

Jyn smirked as she walked away, taking another healthy swig of her bottle before smacking on the door of Cassian’s trailer, entering without waiting for permission.

Cassian looked like he’d just leapt out of his skin, scrambling to shut his laptop, but it took him long enough that she caught sight of a very familiar car ripping down the streets of Los Angeles, gliding on a hairpin turn. Jyn paused, leaning back against the doorframe as Cassian turned around apologetically.

“I wasn’t – “ Cassian said, glancing down at his laptop, then back at her. He licked his lips, looking like he expected her to lash out at any second. She’d never seen him so rattled, and it took her a minute to realize it wasn’t defensiveness. It was embarrassment.

Jyn tightened the cap on her bottle and waited for an explanation. She didn’t feel like fighting him, like she would’ve a month ago. It was surprising, but not altogether unwelcome.

“Looking to learn something?” She asked, and his shoulders sank in relief at her tone. That was fair, she reminded herself. She’d jumped down the throat of just about anyone else that mentioned her past. But she didn’t feel angry. She was more... curious.

“I – yes, actually,” Cassian said. His face was neutral, finally rescued from the stricken-embarrassed look he’d held a second ago. “I find it’s helpful to watch all sorts of racing. You can’t dismiss street racing as easily as people like to.”

Jyn nodded slowly. “Shitty race to learn from, though,” she said, as reward for the good answer. “You should look at the stuff from two years ago, in Seattle.” The cops didn’t know about that one, so Cassian probably wouldn’t either.

“You were driving the Charger,” Cassian said immediately, and Jyn raised an eyebrow. He seemed to realize how quickly he’d answered, and rubbed the back of his neck in the way boys did when they were embarrassed. It was such a boyish action, so different from his usual serious demeanor, that Jyn nearly smiled.

“Yes,” he said, looking at his laptop and not at her. “I’m familiar with it.”

“Oh?” She could get used to him looking like that. She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

“Yes,” Cassian said, then dropped his hand and looked at her. “But you would’ve been even faster if you’d taken the last turn more smoothly. Chirrut’s right, you have a tendency to go too sharp.”

Jyn’s mouth fell open, and he smiled. She strode towards him, dropping into his couch, tossing her closed bottle beside her. “Bullshit.”

Cassian picked up the laptop and sunk next to her, setting the computer on his lap. He hadn’t thought it through, apparently, because when he opened his laptop, he revealed half a dozen of her street race videos saved on his USB. Jyn smirked but let it go, in favour of scrolling through the rest of the collection on Cassian’s laptop, arguing over her form and technique, elbows and shoulders colliding as they jabbed at the screen.

///

Between Baze’s endless circuits at the gym and Chirrut’s startlingly difficult yoga, Jyn was in the best shape of her life. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, even with her brutal trainers, because when they weren’t telling her to start a fourth set of pull ups, they were stuffing her to the brim with carbs. Spread out on a chair at the table in their hotel room, she was digging into yet another bowl of lo mein, ravenous from the ten mile run they just subjected her to.

“Openness is what you lack, Jyn,” Chirrut was saying, pointing to footage from her last race on the laptop Baze had set up. “You need more grace.”

Jyn frowned at him with a mouthful of noodles, “Where the hell is there grace in racing?”

“Think of a river,” Chirrut said, waving his hands. “When you step within its shallows, the water is embraces you. Rather than climbing up your leg, the current adapts, opens to accept you, and moves gracefully _around_ , but with speed and power.”

Jyn took another skeptical bite. Wasn’t that from Mulan?

His pocket buzzed, and he stood, excusing himself. Jyn watched him leave, then looked at Baze, who was preparing a pot of tea.

“I have no idea what he’s saying half the time,” Jyn said.

“Neither does he,” Baze slid a mug of black tea before her, taking the seat across from her.

Chirrut poked his head in from the hallway, “Your head may not understand, but I think your heart is catching on.”

Baze and Jyn looked at one another, and rolled their eyes.

///

She could see him up ahead, the wire of his headphones curling back behind him, his shirt soaked in sweat. Jyn picked up her feet, moving faster, leaning forward.

She meant to blow past him, but as she reached him, Cassian’s strides suddenly increased to match her pace, turning into an all-out sprint.

They flew back to the paddock, neck in neck, arms tangling as they came within sight of their garage. Jyn’s hand planted on his ribs and _shoved_ , but Cassian snaked an arm around her, catching a sensitive spot she’d forgotten about, a laugh hiccupping out of her throat.

They collapsed onto the race deck together, breathless and shaking with laughter, arms still tangled together.

///

Two months into her contract, Jyn began to suspect she’d been adopted into the strangest little family without anyone telling her.

It occurred to her the Sunday night after a race, when they all collapsed into Baze and Chirrut’s room deep into the evening. Jyn was curled up on the couch in the large suite, feet tucked under her and tea in hand. Bodhi was wrapped in a blanket to her left, and Kay was attempting to sit upright in the easy chair to her right, but it kept swallowing him. Baze and Chirrut occupied the spots next to Bodhi, and Cassian was leaned against the arm at her feet, brushing her knee with his shoulder every few minutes, sending a worrying jolt through her. The plate of Baze’s latest creation was warm in her lap as they watched Cassian’s car peel over the finish line first.

There was no jealousy. It was a pleasant surprise, but no green feeling caught up to her, not even when her car dipped over the finish line in seventh place (and boy, was she starting to hate that number). Instead, when Cassian crossed the line on screen, thrusting his fist in the air, Jyn bounced her knee off Cassian’s shoulder. He looked up at her and smiled, and she remembered the same look on his face when they met on the paddock after, and he pulled her into a sweaty hug, and she’d smiled against his shoulder.

Jyn had expected to hit the bar for celebratory drinks, or even for Cassian to disappear for the night, maybe with the others from the podium, maybe with one of the girls making eyes at his victory (and that thought didn’t feel like drinking concrete, it _didn’t_ ). Instead, after his set of interviews, he’d appeared at her hotel door, asking if she was coming for dinner, since she’d assumed Baze and Chirrut wouldn’t be holding their usual meal.

Cassian’s shoulder shifted to rest against her knee, and her heart _thud-thumped_. Bodhi’s elbow dug into her side on the small couch. The quiet click of Baze’s knitting needles was quiet and soothing. It was all so familiar.

She didn’t know why she was recruited, but she was starting to understand why she was there.

Jyn turned the words _team_ and _family_ over and over in her head, laughing along when Kay flashed on screen, huffy over getting caught in a champagne shower. The words twisted, flattened, joined, and there was a feeling so light in Jyn’s chest she thought she’d float away, if not for Cassian’s shoulder and Bodhi’s elbow.

Indianapolis was three stops away.

///

The universe took one look at Jyn’s life, and decided she needed to be knocked down a few pegs, before it gave her a real wallop to the stomach.

It sounded dramatic, but there was something poetic about the fact that the ten-foot advertisement was erected against the back of the Alliance’s paddock, promoting nothing other than a larger-than-life image of her asshole father, arms crossed next to the Empire logo. The explanation behind it reached her after she saw the ad, and even after seeing it, it was just as vomit-inducing.

She knew he’d been dabbling around in some other companies, bouncing between everything but for the Alliance. Last she’d heard, he was safely tucked away in a lab somewhere, having ducked out of racing for good. But that intel was either outdated or outright wrong, because IndyCar just announced he’d be at the race on Saturday and Sunday, showcasing some fancy new safety wall he’d invented. It was advertised to _cushion landings against otherwise cement walls, providing maximum protection to drivers_. Too bad his wife had burned, not gotten crushed.

Jyn had been late to the track that day, after another surprise visit from her parole officer. Remarkably, it hadn’t put her in a sour mood, and she’d started to think things were looking up. She only noticed she had twenty unread messages and eight missed calls when it was too late.

(Five of the calls were from Bodhi; the rest came from Chirrut, Baze, and Cassian, who Bodhi must’ve filled in; four messages were from Saw, probably off a cell he’d smuggled in jail, telling her to keep her chin up and not text back; eight messages were from Bodhi, with an increasingly panicked tone; four from Cassian, calm but urging her to call; three from Chirrut, samples of his vague wisdom; the last message was from an unknown number, the only one she replied to, with an _asshole_.)

She didn’t mention it when she walked into her trailer and found the entire team waiting, going quiet when she walked in. Jyn asked how long she had until practice, and everyone followed her lead, but she was hyper-aware of five sets of eyes (yes, five, even _Kay_ ) on her the rest of the day.

She finished practice in eighth. At least it wasn’t seventh.

///

When Jyn reached the track on Saturday, there was a truck parked in front of the ad, blocking out Galen’s face. Several announcements were made, looking for the misplaced keys to the trunk, as well as the backups, which had also gone missing. _Please return them to the service desk if found_. It played every half hour or so, until they gave up around noon.

Suspiciously, both Kay and Bodhi’s key rings seemed a little fuller than usual. Jyn didn’t say anything, not even when the announcement came on again, and Bodhi jumped so high he knocked his head on the car he was under.

Galen was scheduled to speak before she was supposed to be on the track, leaving only narrow windows in the day for him to go find her, if he was trying to. She spent that time in Cassian’s trailer, not _hiding_ , exactly, but avoiding.

Jyn only had one close call, but Bodhi had her back, warning her that he’d seen Galen on his way to the paddocks, so she could slip away to the pits and hang out there until she heard the announcer call that his talk had begun.

She’d been dodging her father for the past five years. She could handle a weekend.

///

Jyn stepped out of her hotel bathroom, towel drying her hair, still buzzing. Adrenaline was still bumping through her veins like a drum. It was stupid, to be this happy – she’d gotten _forth_ , not _first_ , she admonished herself in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Saw. _Get a grip_.

But that voice was oddly distant, outweighed by Bodhi’s smile and tight hug, drowned out by Chirrut’s _very good, Jyn_ , overshadowed by Cassian’s arm slung over her shoulders, all the way back from the pits.

A knock at the door had her turning, opening the door and finding Cassian in that leather jacket, hands in his pockets. Her smile softened, became more genuine. Before Cassian could say anything, her room phone rang. Jyn glanced over her shoulder at it.

“It’s the desk,” he said, and she looked at him, eyebrows raised. “They just called my room by mistake. Your father is downstairs.” Jyn felt her smile falter, her shoulders sink. The cellphone on her desk had been off since Saturday, when that number had tried to text again.

Cassian held up a set of car keys. “You want to go for a drive?”

///

They snuck down a back staircase, Jyn’s shoes her in hands. Cassian stopped at the bottom and insisted she get her shoes on, offering his shoulder for balance. She jammed her feet into her sneakers, taking him up on his offer, and his hand grasped her elbow. It was like the first turn on a race, the first spike of adrenaline as the cars started to separate, racing to pass while they were still close.

Cassian brought them to a diner lit in soft neons, the waitress wearing a pink skirt and rolling over to them on roller skates. He didn’t use the GPS and recommended the milkshakes; he’d been there before.

“Last time the race came around,” he told her when she asked, leaned on his elbows towards her. “I’d crashed. I needed a pick-me-up.”

Jyn remembered. It hadn’t been anything ground breaking. He’d pushed his tires too far and one popped, yanking him off the track and into the grass. The really devastating part of it was how he was the first to crash, despite it being so many laps in, and it left him in dead last.

The waitress interrupted them, dropping off their milkshakes and a plate of fries. They thanked her and Cassian took a sip of his strawberry milkshake while Jyn made a decision.

“I remember,” she said, playing with the straw in her Oreo shake, so she didn’t have to look at him. “You should’ve gone to the pits at lap fifty.”

Cassian reached for a fry, “Has Chirrut got you studying what you missed?”

Jyn shrugged, “Didn’t miss anything.” It felt like a confession. She kept her eyes on her milkshake.

Cassian paused swiping a fry in his milkshake. Jyn watched it get bogged down in the thickness, threatening to break. “You didn’t know who I was when you signed the contract.”

Jyn felt her face start to burn. She still didn’t look at him. “That... might’ve been bullshit.” She fiddled with her straw, biting down on her lip. But Jyn Erso was never one to turn down a challenge.

She looked up at him. “You’re hard to miss, Andor.”

Cassian’s almost-smile turned into a real smile, crinkling at the corners of his eyes and lighting up his whole face. He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. Quietly, he said, “You’re one of a kind, Jyn.”

///

Cassian didn’t take the same way back, pulling out of the parking lot and pulling a left instead of a right. The car was a rental, a Charger. One of her favourites, actually. Jyn leaned back and took a deep breath, taking in the clean-rental smell, and under it, something spicy and familiar.

She couldn’t remember the last time she did this: just drove, not fast, not to race, without a finish line. Cassian pulled them through the quiet streets while they sat in comfortable silence, the radio singing some low, slow song. The car rocked gently, Cassian’s hands steady on the wheel. She found herself glancing over at him. His face was illuminated by the blue from the dash, his hair combed back by his fingers.

Cassian pulled towards a highway exit and a grin broke out on her face as Cassian glanced at her, then revved the engine as the speed ticked to sixty, seventy, eighty –

He rolled down all the windows and Jyn’s laugh was lost to the noise, leaning her head back and smiling so hard it hurt.

///

She kept driving. She kept racing. Every time she moved up in the standings, she seemed to slide back, struggling to get past seventh. She _really_ was starting to hate that number.

Cassian floated around fourth, behind Krennic’s troopers. The mystery of why the hell the Alliance had picked her still floated in her mind. It really started to bang on her skull, but not painfully; it was curiosity, not her cynical nature, that fuelled it.

Galen left her a letter at the front desk, which Chirrut read after she refused to (with her permission). But “Chirrut read” actually meant “Baze read to Chirrut”, which was nosy and parental and made Jyn feel warm.

“He doesn’t agree with your choices,” Chirrut told her, “But he is proud of you.”

Jyn scoffed. “It’s a good thing they’re not his choices, then.” She paused, weighed the words, then said, “I’m proud of me too.”

Chirrut smiled so wide that she thought he was up to something.

She pretended not to notice Baze tucking the letter away, as if for safe keeping.

///

Jyn spotted the girl first on Friday, her short dark hair pinned under a bright pink hat. Her parents followed exhaustedly behind her as the toured the paddock again and again and again, mimicking driving her own imaginary car at least half the time.

Jyn passed her on her scooter as she headed to practice Friday afternoon, and the girl’s parent had their hand stretched across her stomach, holding her back while she jumped up and down, up and down, and Jyn smiled, remembering the feeling.

The shirt that started out white Friday morning was covered in black sharpie by Saturday afternoon, when she spotted the kid again, this time standing at the Empire’s garage. Two of the troopers were hovering around their cars, barking at the engineering staff. The kid was holding her pen hopefully, leaning so far into the garage that the safety bar was pressing into her stomach.

Jyn set her hands on her hips, knowing what was going to happen next. She didn’t like handing out her autograph, but she did it was least once a day; the Empire was worse. She didn’t think she’d seen a single trooper stop to hand one out since she started the circuit, but she had seen the professional framed photos in one of the Empire merchandise booths out front, signed for an additional four hundred dollars.

Just like she thought, the troopers stomped past her, completely ignoring the kid. Jyn saw her face fall, her pen quivering, as her parent patted her on the shoulder.

Jyn strode forward, leaning her elbows on the bar. “Hey, kid!”

The paddock was quiet enough that the kid heard, and that Jyn didn’t attract anyone else’s attention. The little girl turned and Jyn waved her over. The child toddled forward, her parents following.

“What’s your name?” She asked, and the kid _beamed_.

“Katie.”

“I’m Jyn,” she said, offering her hand. Katie looked delighted at such a grownup gesture, and took Jyn’s two fingers in her hand. When she finally released it, Jyn jerked her chin at the Empire garage. “Don’t worry about those bastards, Katie.”

She heard it, shut her eyes. Jyn looked at her parents, “Sorry.” Her mother was smiling, though, so Jyn stood, lifting the bar.

“You wanna see a real Indycar?” She glanced at Katie’s parents for the answer, waiting for their permission, but Katie did no such thing, darting to Jyn’s car. Bodhi looked up from his work on the engine and immediately smiled, kneeling down to talk to her.

“This is Bodhi,” Jyn said once she caught up. Bodhi was already telling her that he liked her hair clip, and she was reaching to tug at his ponytail in response. “He’s an engineer. That means...” Jyn faltered, but Bodhi had it covered.

“I’m like a – a car doctor,” Bodhi said to Katie, who was busy pushing a tire. She looked at him with wide eyes, and a dozen questions spilled from her little mouth about Bodhi’s job as “car doctor”.

By the time Katie had toddled away, her parents’ arms were full of gloves and autographed photos, and the hat Jyn had been wearing, because Katie liked it, and Jyn got them for free when she asked.

Jyn crossed her arms and watched them leave, caught up in a memory. She didn’t hear Cassian come up beside her.

“That was sweet,” he said, pulling her out of her head. Jyn looked at him, standing so close their shoulders brushed, and he gave her one of his little, reserved smiles. “You don’t usually give out autographs.”

Jyn leaned in a little unconsciously, so their shoulders were pressed together, rather than brushing. “When my mum died,” Jyn said, “Her autograph value went through the roof. Our writing is very similar. People began to pass it off as hers. I’ve tried to change my writing, but I can never get it right.”

Cassian didn’t say anything, just pressed his shoulder into hers. She melted back into him. It was like passing off the barbell at training, letting him take the weight for a moment, if only to get it back on the stand.

///

Then before she knew it, Indianapolis was the next stop.

They had an overnight flight booked, and would be getting there a few days early, to run through the usual schedule. It was good practice to keep up routine, _especially_ before a big race. It was supposed to reduce anxiety, keep driver heads level.

They had a four hour layover in Chicago, thanks to some poor planning on someone in the Alliance’s part. Kay and Bodhi had gone for a walk through the airport to stretch their legs, and Baze and Chirrut were in a pair of seats directly across from Jyn, Chirrut’s fingers gliding over a page while Baze snoozed beside him.

Cassian had taken the seat next to Jyn, elbow bumping her arm gently as he swiped on his tablet. It was like they’d been assigned shifts; Bodhi had been glued to her all morning, Baze and Chirrut took the afternoon, and even Kay hovered silently beside her while the others went off in search of dinner. It was apparently Cassian’s turn, as he’d settled silently beside her on the flight.

Jyn had slept most of the first flight, but woke once to see Cassian illuminated just by the light of his tablet as he read something in Spanish. It reminded her of the blue light of his dashboard, lighting him up as he guided them down that long, dark highway.

Jyn had drifted her head to his shoulder, caught up in a sleepy haze that lowered her usual inhibitions. Cassian had leaned his head on hers briefly before straightening again, turning the page. She’d slept soundly for the rest of the flight.

She shouldn’t have done it. Now she felt wired, knee bouncing, hands too idle. She was too still, should’ve gone with Bodhi and Kay to stretch her legs.

Jyn crossed her arms, sinking into her seat, and reminded herself why she was _really_ nervous. _Face it, Erso. Quit running_.

Her phone was dead, because she hadn’t charged it since she got more texts from the unknown number. Her laptop was also dead, worn out from fiddling with it before they boarded their first flight, and she’d packed her charging cable in her suitcase, not carry-on.

“What’re you thinking?”

Cassian’s voice hauled her out of the deepening trench of her panic spiral, calling her back like an anchor. He seemed to have a sixth sense when she was edging along a cliff, and knew when he had to unroll the safety net. He only looked up once she looked over at him. Jyn sighed, pushing herself up in her chair, so their shoulders were aligned.

Why did it feel like she’d known him her whole life, when it had only been eleven weeks?

Jyn bit her lip, wondering how to start. Cassian set aside his tablet patiently, looking down at their arms on the shared rest between them. His finger traced down hers, before curving around it.

“I was seventeen,” she started finally, picking not _The_ beginning, but _a_ beginning. “Saw had just been arrested, and I’d managed to talk myself into a contract with some independent sponsors. My first time in the Indy circuit. I was okay. Good enough to keep gas in the tank.”

Cassian scoffed softly, as soft as his finger linked around hers. “You were seventeen, and hadn’t dropped below fifth in your first six races.”

She elbowed him lightly, but didn’t take her finger back. “It shouldn’t have been different in Indianapolis, but when I saw the turn – “ She swallowed. “The last time I’d seen it, my mum was dying on it. And when I saw it, that’s all I could think of. I just – froze.”

It was the only word to explain it. Jyn’s speeding life came to a sudden, shocking stop. It froze, and she saw it frame by frame – except every frame was spliced with a frame of her mother’s car on fire. The corner was empty one second, then there was the car on fire, then it was empty, then the fire was licking up the paint, then it was empty, then Lyra’s helmet was rattling, then it was empty, then there was an emergency crew, too late –

“I seized up,” she said, “And I didn’t realize it when I went careening into the wall. Didn’t know I was going to hit it until I did.”

Cassian’s finger trailed down hers. “Broken leg, fractured cheekbone, and a broken wrist.” Jyn nodded as his finger slid to her wrist, circling it until he found the tell-tale bump.

“Lost all my sponsors. Lost my contract,” she said, “I was eighteen by the time I healed, so I was out of luck with the state. I needed to eat. And I _needed_ to drive.” Cassian hummed; he understood. “I knew of some Partisans left over from Saw and joined up with them again. I was there until I was arrested.” She sighed. “All because of that damn corner.”

Cassian’s finger slid off her wrist and his hand circled hers properly, intertwining their fingers.

“What do you want to do?”

///

Just like any athlete, Jyn had a ritual. It was stolen, just like that car, from her mother.

Lyra Erso. Her name was always paired with her daughter’s. It became Jyn’s tragic backstory, Jyn’s life inspiration. The first woman to participate _and_ win the Indycar series and the Indy 500 in the same year. She was a trailblazer, she was a martyr. But more than that, she was Jyn’s Mum.

Lyra Erso used to make pancakes on Sunday mornings, with twice the amount of chocolate chips. Lyra Erso used to Jyn up on her birthday by singing to her. Lyra Erso was known to her daughter as _Mum_ , used to braid Jyn’s hair and took her out for her very first Indycar drive, tucked in the back of the two-seater. She had given her daughter her hair and her eyes and her laugh and her writing, and, most importantly, she’d given Jyn an undying love for racing and speed, and a stubbornness that would propel her forward.

But sometimes Jyn fixated so much on fighting the ideas of trailblazer and martyr with the image of mother, she forgot that Lyra was so much more than that. She’d been Galen’s partner, his best friend, his closest ally. Sometimes Jyn forgot that she had her mother’s hair and her eyes and her laugh and her writing, and that she was a walking reminder of her. Sometimes Jyn thought she could understand her father’s actions, if she wasn’t ready to forgive him.

Lyra didn’t just exist in relation, either. She ate four poached eggs a day. She loved geology, and thought about getting her degree after she retired from racing. She was an environmentalist, and required an environmentally conscious clause in all of her contracts, solar panels used for power and hybrid engines. Lyra would go to protests on her days off. She was always game for a revolution.

Lyra Erso was reckless, was bad at expressing her feelings, and relied too much on her gut, sometimes, instead of reason. Lyra bottled things up until she exploded, slammed the dishes when she emptied the dishwasher, and broke the law regularly for the sake of a ritual. Lyra was flawed, she made mistakes, and that made her better.

The sun was setting and Jyn was at the top of the grand stands, the comforting buzz of activity behind her. She could smell the first of the concession food being cooked, heard the creaking of the t shirt pop-up tents getting set up, the beeping of trucks as they moved backwards.

Jyn stepped down the bleachers and spared a glance over her shoulder before starting up the fence. She swung over, holding on with white knuckles until she got low enough to jump down on the pavement. The track stretched out before her, winding and teasing and challenging.

Her boots landed on loose gravel cast across the pavement, avoiding cracks and paint, and heading towards pit lane. She tugged out her crystal and wrapped her fingers around it, remembering how her mother used to touch it before every race, and how her father put it in Jyn’s hand and closed her fingers around it, calling her _Stardust_.

But before the nerves could settle in, and before she could sprint from them, a loud, obnoxious horn sounded behind her. Jyn stepped back and out of the way, wondering if she was about to get busted, only to see a crappy yellow cart bowling towards her, the front bench seat taken up by none other than Kay behind the wheel, Chirrut in the middle, and Baze on the end.

They screeched to a stop beside her, Kay looking like his limbs had too many inches to be in the cart. Baze looked like he was riding a child’s toy. Only Chirrut looked comfortable, smiling cheerily in the middle.

“Jyn!” He called, and Jyn had long since stopped wondering how he would know it was her, when he couldn’t see her, and she hadn’t said anything. Jyn stepped towards them, hand dropping from her necklace.

“I wanted to drive,” Chirrut informed her cheerily, “But Baze said I would kill us all.”

“Blind fool,” Baze grunted.

“I am not totally blind, as you know,” Chirrut said, “I can see clouded, shapeless things when it is bright.” It startled a laugh out of Jyn. Kay huffed impatiently.

“Well, are you going to get on, or did we commandeer this vehicle needlessly?”

“ _Kay_ ,” Cassian’s voice, fondly exasperated. Jyn rounded the cart and found he and Bodhi were sprawled across the flat back of it, the spot between them open for her.

“You’re all such weirdos,” she said, drinking in Cassian’s smile. It was full and blinding, like the sun setting behind her. Bodhi patted the spot between him and Cassian, snapping her out of it and looking so smug she knew she was going to hear about it later. She must’ve had all those mushy metaphors written on her face.

Jyn climbed on between them, looking over her shoulder in time to see Chirrut’s hand snake out and pump at the horn again, until Kay was able to force it away. Kay hit the pedal too hard, jerking them all forward then back, and Bodhi called out teasingly, “Maybe – maybe we should leave the drivers to the driving, hey – hey, Kay?”

“My driving is perfectly adequate, Bodhi,” Kay said shortly, “It is this infernal _bug_ of a machine that is to blame.”

Chirrut chimed in, “Perhaps you should allow me – “

A resounding chorus of _no_ broke out over the car, Baze’s voice loudest, and Jyn laughed. Cassian’s leg was pressed to hers from hip to knee, and he’d planted his hand behind her, leaning into her space.

They drove the whole track backwards, coming to the turn where Lyra Erso died last, and a calm silence settled over the vehicle as it puttered to a stop beside it. Jyn studied the fence, the chain-link surrounded by her father’s new invention. It was a softer barrier, two feet wide and made of something like Styrofoam, but far stronger, designed to cushion anyone who hit the fence.

She realized, sitting there, that Galen hadn’t invented the fence for her mother. Lyra had hit the fence on her side, after being knocked off kilter by Krennic, but that wasn’t what killed her. It was the sudden spark of her engine, something snapped inside from impact, which caught fire and burned up the whole car.

But it was Jyn who’d hit the fence nose-first, who had flown up and slapped it with the top of her car and her head. It was Jyn whose cheek was fractured when her helmet broke against the chain-link, Jyn whose wrist snapped when she instinctively reached up to stop herself.

Galen’s barricade would stop the flip, absorb the impact, and keep all four tires on the ground.

Jyn’s hand found her crystal again. Cassian’s hand touched the small of her back, anchoring her. Then Bodhi’s head was on her shoulder, and Chirrut was smoothing back her hair, and Baze had a hand on her knee. Kay grabbed at her foot awkwardly, apparently at a loss, but still trying. They were propping her up, holding her, supporting her, and Jyn shut her eyes and remembered that her father was proud of her, and knew that her mother was, too, wherever she was, of this ragtag family she’d fallen into.

And for the first time in a long time, Jyn felt still.

///

Jyn’s life was all about speed. It was her greatest love, and her mother’s greatest gift.

She followed Chirrut and Bodhi to her car, placing a hand on the windshield and on the back of her chair, lifting herself up and settling into the car smoothly. Bodhi gave her the steering wheel, and she fit it in, moving until she heard the _click_.

Bodhi patted her helmet and Chirrut leaned down, hand on her shoulder.

“You are one with the force,” he said, “The force is with you.” It sounded reverent, like a prayer. She didn’t ask him to explain it, because she thought she understood.

They cleared the track, and Jyn held her wheel tightly, watching the lights above her. Red. Yellow.

Green.

Her foot jammed on the gas.

///

She didn’t win. She didn’t even place in the top ten, finishing back in twelfth. The winner was some new kid, some green farm boy she’d never heard of, who entered for the Alliance hours before. But even with that kid gliding over the finish line well before her, she did win, in a way.

She pelted towards the turn where her mother had finished her last race, and saw her father’s fence, designed to protect her. And she turned, smoothly, not sharp like she used to. Her path was more curved, sliding carefully around the corner, and then she was through. And it was just another corner.

When she rolled into pit lane at the end of the race, they were all there, even Cassian, who’d just finished fifth, for fuck’s sake. He should’ve been celebrating for himself. But he was there, and so was everyone else.

She climbed out of the car and Cassian stepped into her space, circling her, orbiting her, leaning in to say, “Welcome home.”

Then Bodhi was hugging her, and Chirrut was laughing, and Baze was clapping her on the shoulder while Kay sprouted statistics about her improvement, despite her lower place. Jyn didn’t get what the big deal was. It was just a damn corner.

They returned to the paddocks, which were oddly peaceful, with everyone else at the winner’s circle celebrations. They made a plan to crack their own champagne in Jyn’s trailer, and Cassian ran to his to grab more glasses. When no one was looking, Jyn followed.

She charged inside his trailer like she had all those weeks ago, when she caught him watching her race. He didn’t look as startled as he had the first time, suit pushed down around his waist and left in the white turtle neck beneath. He was the first person ever to pull it off.

Jyn stood just inside the door, letting it fall shut behind her, while she took him in. He was reserved and kind and handsome, and she felt like she could take on empires, standing there with him.

 _Welcome home_.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” She blurted, voicing the thing she’d been thinking for a while. “You’re the one that wanted me. You’re the reason they picked me. You’re the reason I’m on this team.”

Then he smiled, not like he had back on the cart, but softly, gently. “You’re one of a kind, Jyn,” he said, and it was enough to have her surging forward.

He tasted like gasoline and sweat, his beard scratching softly on her chin, his strong hands on her waist. She started fast, but he took it slow, kissing her as gently as he spoke. His hand found her cheek, like they had all the time in the world. Her knees were weak with his softness, his sweetness.

Maybe slow wasn’t so bad after all.

///

She remembered to charge her phone that night.

When she woke, it was to Cassian shutting off his alarm, rolling back to her and wrapping his arm around her waist, apologizing and telling her to go back to sleep. Jyn shut her eyes and pressed her forehead against his collarbone, caught up in a syrupy warmth she had no intention of dragging herself from.

She and Cassian stayed up late the night before, talking into the wee hours of the morning. They decided they would keep this quiet, because it was new and still fragile, and they wanted to keep it _theirs_ , for a bit.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

“I predict this will create a more complicated environment between you two,” the voice jolted her out of her molasses, eyes snapping open as she grabbed the sheet and made sure it was yanked to her chin. “But there is a forty-six percent change that this will increase competitiveness between the two of you, which will elevate your standings by an estimated – “

“ _Kay!_ ” Cassian snapped, chucking his pillow at him. Jyn didn’t see it land, shutting her eyes and rolling her face into her own pillow. Then Cassian was there, nudging her back so he could share, tucking her into his chest. “Kay, get out.” Then, to her, “I’m sorry, I forgot he did this sometimes. I should’ve warned you.”

Jyn shook her head, borrowing into him. “Just get rid of him.”

“I _beg_ your pardon – “ Kay began, affronted.

“You heard her, Kay,” Cassian said, sighing as he heaved himself up to shoo him out. Jyn grabbed his blankets and pulled them over her shoulders, missing his warmth immediately. “ _Out_.” She listened to Kay grumble but obey, door swinging behind him.

When Cassian returned, she was sitting up. Wide awake, now.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said again, sitting in front of her, curling her loose hair behind her ear. He smiled, almost shyly. “Hey.”

Jyn pressed her lips in to try to stop herself from smiling, and failed horrendously. “Hi,” she responded.

“Tea?”

“ _Please_ ,” Jyn groaned, and Cassian smiled, leaning in to kiss her before he went. It left her embarrassingly breathless, like she’d just climbed out of a car after hitting three hundred miles an hour.

She slid out of bed to follow him, pulling his discarded shirt on before she remembered her phone. Jyn picked it up, and scrolled to the unknown number.

 _Hi_.

She sent it, then clicked the contact.

**_\--- > CHANGE CONTACT _(780) 374 2948 _to_ GALEN _?_**

Jyn hit accept, then followed Cassian to the kitchenette.

///

Lyra Erso never fully disappeared from her story. She was always there, always mentioned, but she was no longer Jyn’s entire story.

If they wrote about Jyn, it was about her record, her speed, her climb in the standings. Sometimes it was about her mysterious relationship with her teammate; sometimes it was about her street racing history; sometimes it was her own voice, sharing Chirrut’s advice, or talking about her discomfort with autographs. The stories shifted to _hers_ , but her mother was still in the magazines, every year, on the anniversary of her death.

Every real driver had crashed. Every _good_ driver didn’t let it slow them down. Not even Lyra; especially not Jyn.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note:  
> Three things:  
> 
> 
>   * First, Tiger Blood Lemonade is a real thing, and it changed my life.
>   * Second, I tried to stick to the actual Indy schedule, but I ended up changing it a little for plot reasons
>   * Third: characterization???? Help????
> 

> 
> Questions? Comments? Musings? Critiques? Ideas? Complicated feelings about autographs? Darth Jar Jar Plagueis theories? I’m on [tumblr](http://clytemnestrad.tumblr.com/).


End file.
